


Gospel of Love, Gospel of War

by LittleRedRoseontheValley (TheLifeAndLiesOfFerns)



Category: Blades of Light and Shadow (Visual Novel)
Genre: Anticipation, F/F, F/M, Jealousy, Loneliness, Love, Possession, Self-Doubt, Self-Sacrifice, Sex, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-08
Updated: 2020-06-08
Packaged: 2021-03-03 18:48:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24600313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLifeAndLiesOfFerns/pseuds/LittleRedRoseontheValley
Summary: Tyril awaits patiently his turn with the giver of his life and his death, considering what means to love when one does not know possession.
Relationships: Aerin Valleros/Main Character (Blades of Light and Shadow), Imtura Tal Kaelen/Main Character (Blades of Light and Shadow), Main Character (Blades of Light and Shadow)/Other(s), Mal Volari/Main Character (Blades of Light and Shadow), Nia Ellarious/Main Character (Blades of Light and Shadow), Tyril Starfury/Main Character (Blades of Light and Shadow)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 26





	Gospel of Love, Gospel of War

Sometimes, enhanced senses were a terrible nuisance.

I was laid down at the chambers the human Crown was lending me. The bed was the softest I had ever encountered in their realm, rivalling mine at Undermount. The weather was nice and my body was aching with tiredness, and yet, sleep alluded me.

Instead of the milky darkness a lesser being would certainly be facing, I saw the moon shine creeping from the fireplace, and the fire being cradled in the hallway chandeliers. I could see the particles of dust falling slowly from the ceiling, I could hear the ants walking behind the walls and I could smell the perfume from the last occupant of the room, likely a gaudy noblewoman.

However, at home, all these stimuli were also present, and I rarely had any difficulty drifting off to sleep. It is not something I acknowledge with pride, but the source of my insomnia is not the state of the room, but rather the obtrusive thoughts in my mind.

Not several thoughts, just one, the one. Her.

Platinum hair falling from her head in delicate curls, naturally ironed in a precise and symmetrical shape, framing the aquamarine blue of her eyes that shone even in the dark of Deadwood nights, an angular nose that denounced her aristocratic blood and thin lips that turned and twisted with the most delectable promises.

The thin constitution and the absence of blemishes on her clear skin would trick a man to believe that such a woman had never worked or fought a day of her life, but such assumption would be gravely, perchance deadly, mistaken. I have seen her fight, and she can hold her own against many, if not all, warriors I have ever encountered.

Not she found need often. She is charming and cunning, unafraid of using her opponents’ weaknesses of character and resolve against them, of seducing others to fight for her.

She did me, after all.

Her sweet words whispered in my ear, and I was bending my knee to her with such conviction that it was unbecoming of a Starfury, of an _elf_. I believed everything and anything she had ever told me, and I was willing to defend that belief with my sword if necessary.

She erased centuries of proud tradition and customs ingrained in my personality, in my character, and replaced them with her every whim. She taught me her gospel, and I was proud to be her most loyal disciple.

I was _jealous_ of her, in the name of the gods old and new!

Kivali and Dinvali be damned, to me she was everything. The water for all my thirst, the answer to every question. I have no need for any other woman, elven or otherwise, and all I want from the gods at this point is that I learn how to sate her every craving as well.

Alas, I fail at this as well.

She will not tell me one way or the other, and I fear asking, but I _know_. I can smell on her skin and I can taste on her mouth, the bedchambers she visits before she comes to mine. I do not know whose will it be every night, but it is never mine first, and sometimes not the last.

I still wait, nevertheless. Awaken, counting the minutes for her to arrive and dreading the time she leaves. Wondering where she went before she came to my arms.

Perhaps it was Volari. The rogue had enviable charm and wit; a physique sculpted on the fire of his basic needs. He had stories of adventure that easily seduced a suffocated country girl.

It could be Aerin. His cultured speech was interesting to listen, and his easy manners were soothing. The prince’s runt nature was known to remind her of her brother. Royal blood was, also, a powerful aphrodisiac, regardless of its bearer’s position in the line of succession.

Her preferences could befall another sex for the evening. For all her appearance of purity, something I am sure many would take pleasure in, Nia had been quite daring since I met her. I am sure it would be enjoyable for both parties pushing the limits of her innocence.

Should be Imtura, it was likely to be the complete opposite, as her condition as an orc makes her resilient and lascivious. A lust that could go on for all night, and a body that could withstand much abuse, as well an enviable experience, certainly acquired in many a ship’s voyage.

Or it could be people I have never met, people I would never suspect. It feels as if everyone is competition, and defeat means death.

I felt woefully underprepared to such a battle. What I had to offer? I am merely a fallen elf from a house, while ascendant once more, was hardly worth all the caveats that came with it, and not even its lordship I deserved. My intellectual achievements were mediocre at best, and I could not hope to hold my own against the Shadow Court in a field of war.

My very life is forfeit in a desperate goose chase for revenge that I could not help but let taint every aspect of my life, endeared to me or otherwise.

I bemoaned time and time again my fates as an heir, for the fact none could see what laid beneath the Starfury name and riches, and now I find myself here, feeling exposed, deprived of every frill and disguise, _dreading_ it, grasping at anything that can conceal me once again. The day of my judgement is fast approaching, and I could only hope for a conviction.

Yet, I wait with anticipation. Yet, I could not sleep, not due to fear and repentance, but with anticipation for any scraps of attention I might have been able to be assigned, like an eager voxper wagging its tail.

It is demeaning and unbecoming, but it feels too good.

Suddenly, the sound of the door creaking open breaks through my reverie. The time was upon me, and my body felt the thunder her presence drawing near.

A sliver of light signals her entrance in my bedchamber. She closes the door and step closer enough for me to touch. As her smell hits my sensitive nose, all considerations about her whereabouts vanish, as I reach my arms and trap her close to me.

I do not let her speak in those moments, and I do not hear her words if she insists to talk. I just wrap my arms tighter around her waist and hope for the time to pass me by slower.

Some might need a miracle or a blessing to renew their faith, but I only needed to peruse her skin for me to believe in my gods.

She was my gospel, and I never wanted to let go.


End file.
